


Hell or High Water

by Morvith



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempted Murder, Italian Mafia, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5690260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morvith/pseuds/Morvith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus Aquila is the only son and heir of mob boss Victor Aquila. Esca MacCunoval is his best friend, his brother in everything but blood. When Marcus' parents are murdered by a rival boss and Marcus himself is seriously wounded in the attack, their lives will never be the same - but what will become of them?</p>
<p>(From a prompt at the_eagle_kink on LJ, originally posted there)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic I found in my hard drive. It was originally posted on the kink meme and my LJ
> 
> Based on [this prompt](http://the-eagle-kink.livejournal.com/5005.html?thread=4364941#t4364941)

Marcus laughs as he stumbles through the club, his cell phone pressed against his ear. “Can you hear me? Give me a minute, I’ll call you back, ok? I said I’ll call you back!”

Some of the other patrons glare at him and he waves an apology as he walks past, not even looking back to see if Frankie is following him because, well, of course he is.

Outside, the air is unexpectedly cool on his heated skin. He keeps walking until there’s at least five feet between him and the last cluster of smokers, then raises his phone again.

 

Frankie leans against the wall, lighting a cigarette of his own. “Mrs. Aquila or your little brother?”

 

“He’s not my brother,” Marcus replies automatically. 

 

Frankie chuckles. “Tell him I say hi, will you?”

 

Marcus presses three – alright, so Esca got the first free number after mom and dad on his speed dial, but that still doesn’t make him his brother – and raises the phone to his ear.

Esca answers on the first ring. Marcus can’t help but grin the moment he hears his voice.

It’s a beautiful night, the stars are shining, the music’s loud and he’s got Esca on the phone. Life is good.

 

Then, his world explodes with pain.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Marcus sees when he opens his eyes is Esca.

 

Okay, the first thing he actually sees is a big, blurry mass of white also known as the ceiling, but that’s irrelevant and unmemorable.

There’s no way on Earth Esca could ever be irrelevant or unmemorable, not to Marcus, so whenever he thinks of this moment, Esca will always be the only thing he remembers.

 

It’s all wrong. Esca shouldn’t be here – where’s here, anyway?

Smells like a hospital. It must _be_ a hospital, there’s no other place that could be so clean. But why are they here, is he hurt?

Is Esca hurt?

 

Marcus wants to sit up, but his body won’t obey him, he can’t move at all.

“Esca…”

Was that his voice? It must be, there’s no one else here and then Esca raises his head and Marcus is lost in time, he’s fifteen again and staring straight at the skinny little fucker who picked his pocket at the mall.

It’s all wrong, Esca shouldn’t look like that. He doesn’t like it when Esca looks like that, for all that it impressed him back then, he has done his best to keep that look off his face for the last eight years.

 

“Sssh,” Esca says, his voice surprisingly gentle. “You were shot. You need to rest, now.”

 

Marcus frowns. He remembers something – the club, his phone ringing. Esca was on his phone, so he wasn’t there, he’s okay.

But he heard Esca scream – why was he screaming if he’s okay?

There are so many things he wants to know, but he can’t line up the words to make them into questions.

His thoughts keep slipping away from him and his eyes won’t stay open.

 

“Rest. I’m here now. I won’t fail you again.”

 

Marcus would really like to snort at that, even if Esca’s voice has that hint of steel that means he’s not joking, underestimate at your own risk – what is he talking about, like Esca could ever fail him.

Sadly, even that little thing is beyond him at the moment.

 

Marcus closes his eyes.

His last coherent thought is about his parents and where they could be – whether he’s 2 or 22, wild horses couldn’t tear Theresa Aquila from her son’s bed when he’s sick.

 

He dreams of running after Esca through a crowded amusement park. Sometimes he’s 11, like the day they met, and sometimes he’s 19, but it doesn’t matter: Marcus never catches him.

 

********

 

Marcus drifts in and out of sleep for days.

When he wakes up, Esca is always there. Sometimes there are other people in the room with him: nurses, doctors, other guards, even uncle Flavius.

His parents never come, not even once.

 

It’s more than a week before he can stay awake for more than five minutes at the time – before he can bring himself to ask.

Uncle Flavius tries to stall for time, but Marcus is tired of waiting.

 

“Please, uncle. Don’t make me ask Esca.”

 

The ghost of a smile flashes on his uncle’s face. “You trust him this much. Good.”

Family lore says he turned grey overnight, when his beloved wife Julia was caught in the crossfire during an attack on the family – killed by a stray bullet from their own side. He couldn’t even take revenge.

He looks even older now.

“It was all a trap. We didn’t see it until it was too late.”

It’s kind of him to say we, even though he was miles away and there was nothing he could have done.

 

When it comes down to it, it’s a fairly simple story: Marcus was just bait – or maybe they actually meant to kill him, even if he’s not much of a threat, just a kid taking a year off of college, still learning the ropes but the son of Victor Aquila nonetheless, so maybe he was lucky.

His parents had been the real targets all along: when they rushed to the hospital to be by his side, they walked straight into an ambush.

They were dead before Marcus was out of surgery. There’s nothing he could have done – uncle Flavius makes sure to repeat that several times.

 

Marcus just sits there and listens. It’s the hardest thing he has ever done.

He doesn’t ask for details – uncle Flavius wouldn’t give them anyway – but there’s one thing he must know.

 

“I want the name. You must know by now.”

 

“Liathan O’Shea.”

 

Marcus closes his eyes. “The Irish, then.”

Figures. Nobody had expected trouble from that side – that was why it had worked. And Liathan O’Shea is the only bastard crazy enough to try.

 

“What do we do now, uncle?”

 

Flavius Aquila raises his eyebrows. This is not the reaction he was expecting from his nephew, it’s plain as the day.

Marcus opens his eyes again and deliberately meets his gaze. “If I could walk out of here,” he says, his voice deadly calm. “I’d find Liathan O’Shea and shoot him.”

Esca shifts restlessly against the wall.

 

“You’d just get yourself killed.”

 

Marcus smiles coldly. “True. Good thing I can’t walk, then. So what do we do?”

 

Flavius glances to his right. “Esca, boy, leave us for a few minutes.”

 

Esca doesn’t move. “If you think I’m ever letting him out of my sight…”

 

Marcus sighs tiredly and interrupts them. “Esca, stop it. Uncle, you can speak freely in front of him. As you said, I trust him. And my parents always treated him like a son, it’s his revenge as well as mine.”

 

More like how he deserved to be treated, but Marcus knows better than to voice that thought. Besides, thinking of Moira MacCunoval is bad for his blood pressure even when he’s not already confined to a hospital bed.

 

“So you would go after the Irish?” Flavius asks, his voice and face betraying nothing.

 

“Yes. Can we do it?”

 

“Right now? It can’t be done. We’re barely holding on as it is and the other families weren’t as lucky as us.”

 

“Other families don’t have you.” Marcus’ smile is there and gone in a flash. His uncle may have been retired for 25 years, but family is family. O’Shea is an idiot to underestimate him.

 

“I’m trying my best, my boy. But I’m not a man of war, not anymore.” His eyes suddenly look sharp. “You will be, though not yet.”

 

Marcus frowns. “What do you mean?”

 

“I’ll stay here, salvage what I can and try my best to put us back on our feet. You’ll leave for California as soon as the doctor allows it.”

 

“What! Uncle!” He tries to sit up, but the quick movement sends dark spots dancing across his vision and his head spinning.

When his eyes finally clear, Esca is by his side, gently guiding him back down. Marcus tries to push him away, but he won’t budge – worse, he simply plops himself on the edge of the bed and lays a hand on his shoulder, both comforting him and trapping him.

 

“Right now you need to take care of yourself and we both know that you’d only think of revenge if you stayed. Even if your swore to wait, New York isn’t safe for you.”

 

“I’m my father’s heir,” Marcus growls. “I can’t just…”

 

“You can and you will. I have already arranged for the best care.”

 

“I won’t run from Liathan O’Shea!”

 

Flavius glares. “Think of it as a strategic retreat, then. Your wounds….”

 

“So I’m too much of a cripple? What about our family business, then?”

 

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” He sighed tiredly “Believe me, my boy, I know exactly how you feel. I wouldn’t let you go after O’Shea even if you hadn’t been shot: you’re still too raw, too hurting. You need time to heal, not just your leg. You’re allowed to have it, you know? Go to California, take care of your leg, go back to university as soon as you can and then, when you’re bit older, you’ll come back home.”

 

Marcus clenches his fists. “There isn’t anything I can say to change your mind, is there?”

 

“Exactly.” Flavius turns to leave. “You’re all the family I have left now, Marcus. I’m going to take care of you whether you like it or not.”

 

*********

 

Two weeks later, Marcus is out of the hospital and on a plane bound for Los Angeles.

He missed his parents’ funeral and uncle Flavius forbid them from stopping at the graveyard, even for a moment. It’s too dangerous.

It still feels too much like running away.

Esca tries to put a hand on his arm, but he shakes him off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, the Seal People are Scottish, not Irish, but I've never heard of a Scottish mafia and I thought Liathan O'Shea sounded nice.


	3. Chapter 3

Predictably, Marcus hates everything about California.

How can he like it when the whole state is his personal prison? And adding insult to injury, uncle Flavius has forbidden him from doing anything that could even vaguely relate to Liathan O’Shea, his parents’ death or revenge – he can’t even read the police report!

Or, thanks to his fucking leg, hit the clubs and dance and drink and fuck the night away – for the one time he really, truly needs to lose himself in the night, he can’t. He’d probably never get to.

He’s broken. Useless.

He might as well start working on molding the sofa cushions to his body because that’s the most exciting thing he’ll ever achieve.

 

In his brilliant plan, however, he forgot one tiny, vital detail: Esca MacCunoval is a stubborn bastard and absolutely fearless.

Perhaps it’s knowing that there’s nothing short of talking to law enforcement people that would make Marcus put a hit on him, and even then he’d listen to his side of the story first. A 24-hours head start is also not out of the realm of possibility.

 

Right now, though, Marcus could just about throttle him. Esca just won’t leave him the fuck alone: he’s always nagging and wheedling about physical therapy and food and generally being a concerned pain in the ass.

He’s not asking for much, ok? He just wants to…to disappear in his own head and not come out for a while. Physical therapy is just a torture and a waste of time. He’s not 5, he’ll eat when he wants to, he can take care of himself and Esca is not his fucking brother.

 

For the first weeks, there’s a lot of yelling and throwing of various objects. Unfortunately for Marcus, Esca just ducks, yells right back at him and generally makes good of most of his threats while Ms. Sasstica, Stephen and Lucius look on from the sidelines.

 

Eventually, slowly, the situation starts improving. Marcus gets tired of arguing – and of losing all the time – so he resigns himself to going along with whatever Esca wants, grumbling every step of the way but walking rather than being dragged kicking and screaming.

He ends up channeling his frustration in his physical therapy and his leg starts improving – slowly, but steadily.

After some time, Marcus can start taking short walks around the house and the garden, join a gym again. He finally, finally gets to seat behind the wheel of his car and drive and not even the nightmarish traffic puts a damper on his mood.

 

He’ll never go back to the dance floor, though. He can’t and his leg has nothing to do with it. He gets a therapist.

There are still bad days, and Esca still gets the worst of it, but it’s down to their regular fights, it’s nothing they haven’t done before.

 

(Years later, Marcus will look back on those first weeks and thank God that somehow he never crossed the line that would have cost him Esca’s friendship).

 

Weeks turn to months. He still doesn’t like California, but he’s looking into the local universities, thinking about going back for his PhD.

That’s when the argument starts.

 

“Have you decided what to do?” Marcus asks, looking up from his paperwork. 

 

“About what?” 

 

“College. Are you going back to Boston?” 

 

Esca looks away. “I’m staying here, of course.”

 

Marcus smiles. “Great. Our schedules will probably be very different, but maybe we’ll grab lunch together.”

 

“That will be easier than you think,” Esca mutters. 

 

“What?” Marcus frowns. Esca’s face is a mix between I’m-keeping-something-from-you and I-have-to-tell-you-something-but-you-won’t-like-it. “What is it, Esca?” 

 

“I’m not going back to college.” 

 

“What?! What are talking about, of course you are!” 

 

“No, Marcus. I’m really not.” 

 

Marcus closes his eyes as memories come up – Esca’s stubborn face, their never-ending argument and Theresa Aquila’s calm, firm voice. “Must we go through this again, Esca? You said you’d give college a try…”

 

“Yeah, and look how well that turned out,” Esca snorts. 

 

Marcus grits his teeth. “Oh, I’m sure it would have made all the difference!”

 

Esca turns and punches the wall.

 

“Hey! Don’t!” Marcus shouts, standing up as quickly as fast as his leg will let him. Once he’s on his feet, however, he hesitates, unsure of what to do or say. 

 

Esca keeps his back to him, his breathing deep and labored as though he had run for miles. Several second tick by before he speaks. “You still don’t remember much from that night, do you?”

 

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Everything up until I got out of the club and then it’s all bits and pieces, you know that.”

 

Esca steps back from the wall and sinks down on the sofa as if his legs couldn’t support him anymore, hiding his face in his hands. “I remember everything.”

 

It’s just a whisper, but it hits Marcus like a punch. He knew, of course he knew – Esca on the phone, far away, safe. He just never really understood what it meant. He never really thought about what that meant for Esca.

He tries to imagine what it would have felt like, standing on the sidewalk, chattering away, and suddenly hearing Esca’s door being kicked in, guns being fired and Esca, Esca in danger, in pain, maybe dying and him on the other end of the phone, helpless to do anything but listen.

The mere thought makes him shiver – for a split second, he wants to cross the room, hold Esca in his arms and never let him go, never let him leave the house without him or at least a dozen armed guards.

 

It still can’t be even remotely close to what Esca went through – what he has been going through since that night.

Marcus has been a dick. That’s hardly news, but this time he doesn’t know how to fix it.

 

“Esca…”

 

“Shut up. It’s okay, I get it. Just don’t…don’t push me on this, Marcus. College is not for me.” It’s dangerously close to begging and five years ago Marcus promised himself Esca would never have to beg him for anything that was in his power to give, even if he disagreed. Esca isn’t made to beg. 

 

Marcus forces himself to focus on the here and now before his mind carries him down memory lane again. “Okay. No more talk about college.” He hesitates for a second, but he can’t not ask. “Do you have a plan? Something you’re going to do?”

 

Esca raises his head and smiles. “I always have a plan.”

 

Marcus really, really wants to ask – and maybe right now Esca would let him push, just a bit, mostly out of habit. But Esca always let him have his space when he really needed it – it’s time to return the favor.

 

***************

 

Marcus would never admit it, but college is good for him. It’s a bit like going back to clubs, back to being just a body among many, all connected by music – here, they are all connected by classes and professors and schedules. He’s just Marcus Aquila, economics student.

The first thing he does is build himself a social life. It’s not that hard, if you’re not shy, and Marcus has always been able to walk the friendly line without crossing into obnoxious territory. Soon he manages to cultivate a wide and varied circle of people he calls friends. If they actually took time to think about it, they’d realize they know very little about him, but he’s good at keeping them from noticing. It’s all a careful dance – great practice for the future, too.

 

Between keeping up with his web of acquaintances, classes, actual studying and the occasional party, Marcus has his hands full. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t got time for Esca, or so he tells himself.

Truth is, if they didn’t live in the same house, they wouldn’t see each other at all: Esca is always up for a round of Mario Kart or a lazy night on the sofa with pizza and a movie, but whenever Marcus invites him out with his classmates, he turns him down. Sometimes Marcus wonders if he’s jealous, but that’s ridiculous: they are just people he knows, Esca is his friend.

Perhaps he’s just busy – he started taking dance classes in a studio somewhere, but that obviously can’t be all he does. Marcus never asks, though. He promised to give him space and well… Esca is happy.

 

That’s why it’s such a shock when, one Saturday night, Marcus catches him stumbling in through the backdoor, bruised and bleeding.

 

 

It all happens because of professor Harris and his ten sources minimum requirement on his papers. By the time Marcus realizes he has been stuck on the same sentence for the last 5 minutes, it’s ten to one AM, he’s tired and thirsty.

He hesitates a moment before making his way to the kitchen, without turning on the light because Miss Sasstica sleeps downstairs and she is damn scary when somebody bothers her.

He’s helping himself to a couple of cookies when somebody opens the backdoor and flips the switch.

 

Even with the light flooding the kitchen, it takes him a second to realize what he’s seeing: Esca stands in the doorway, blinking owlishly. His clothes are rumpled, stained, even torn in a couple of places. Faint traces of blood on his face, red marks on his cheeks and arms that will soon turn into bruises.

Esca stares at him, swaying back and forth, and says: “Oh, fuck.”

 

That’s a good way of putting it.

Before he can say anything else, Marcus crosses the kitchen, drags him inside and pushes him down on a chair. Crouching next to him sends spikes of pain through his leg and he’ll pay dearly for this in the morning, but he doesn’t care: he’s too busy trying to inspect every inch of Esca.

“What the fuck happened?” he practically growls. “Who did this? Who?” 

 

“Marcus…Marcus, calm down, it’s nothing…” Esca tries to fight his hands off, but he’ll have none of it. 

 

“Nothing my ass!” Marcus catches a glimpse of more red marks on older, almost-faded ones before Esca manages to push him off and pull his shirt down. The last time he felt so furious he was 17 and finding shoe-shaped bruises on Esca’s chest and back. “I want their names.”

 

“Damn it, Marcus, will calm the fuck down? You’ve got your killing voice on.” 

 

“I’m not fucking joking here, Esca!”

 

“Don’t shout, do you want to wake Sasstica?”

 

Marcus glares at him but lowers his voice. “Their names. Now.”

 

Esca has the nerve to sigh and roll his eyes. “Look, I don’t know them, okay? I was in a bar fight.”

 

“A bar fight?! You’re nineteen!” 

 

“And you gave me a fake ID when I turned seventeen. Your point?” 

 

Marcus closes his eyes and counts to ten as he slowly, carefully pushes himself to his feet. “I can’t fucking believe it. What the fuck where you thinking?” No answer. “I should have set some guardian angels on you years ago!”

 

His face turns red, eyes sparkling with wounded pride. “Don’t you dare bring that up, Marcus! I’m older, I can take care of myself!”

 

“Oh, yeah, sure! I can see what a great job you’ve done!” He’s almost shouting again. “I don’t care if your ego can’t take it, you’re getting bodyguards, on my dime, and that’s final!”

 

Esca clenches his fists. “Mind your own fucking business, Marcus. I’m not a kid anymore, you don’t have to protect me!”

 

“I want to!”

 

“I don’t need it!”

 

“I DON’T CARE!”

 

They both still, waiting for footsteps and angry questions, but Miss Sasstica miraculously fails to show up at all.

 

It’s Esca who breaks the silence. “You can’t keep me under glass.”

 

“I’m not! I mean…I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

“Well, giving me bodyguards is not the way to go.” He sighs with frustration and runs a hand through his hair. “Listen, I know you…care about me. I swear I’m not trying to get back at you or anything, but the only reason I’ve flown under the radar for all these years is that outside your immediate family everybody sees me as an empty suit.”

 

“You’re not – ”

 

“I know,” Esca interrupts him. “But you putting bodyguards on me? It’s pretty fucking noticeable.” 

 

Marcus’ mouth goes dry. “It would make you a target.”

 

“It could,” Esca corrects him, both kindly and implacably. “I need to learn to take care of myself, too.” 

 

“Low profile. Got it.” He can see Esca’s point, he can agree with him, but that still doesn’t mean he has to like it. “Are you ever going to tell me what this mysterious plan of yours?” 

 

Esca deliberately meets his gaze and holds it. “Trust me, Marcus. I know what I’m doing, even if it doesn’t look so.”

 

Marcus sighs. “Those dance classes of yours…Are they actually real?”

 

Esca half-smiles and half-grimaces, unconsciously rubbing his leg. “Oh yes. Very real.” He doesn’t add anything else.

 

“Okay. Fine. Just be careful, okay? Let’s go upstairs, I’ll patch you up.” He expects Esca to try and refuse again, but he proves smarter than that. 

Marcus helps him up the stairs and into the bathroom – luckily, his “war wounds” are easily treated with a few cold compresses. Helping Esca makes him feel both more grounded and more unsettled – last time it was his mother who took care of him, not Marcus. He can’t help but feel he’s a poor substitute.

 

When they finally make it to their respective rooms, it’s almost half past one. Marcus forgot to get the water, but it’s not thirst that keeps him wide awake, tossing and turning. His mind is too full of memories.

 

 


End file.
